


Time Passes (but doesn't move at all)

by raviiel



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: Allusions to Ocarina of Time, Gen, Light Angst, Non-Graphic Violence, Puppets, Saria's Song, Wolf Link (Legend of Zelda), kind of, liberties are taken and no fucks are given
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 10:49:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17181542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raviiel/pseuds/raviiel
Summary: Things lurk in the Sacred Grove, far older than Link can comprehend, so why does it feel so familiar?





	Time Passes (but doesn't move at all)

The air of the Sacred Grove is oppressive, though not for the reason one might think. Link has lived in Ordon long enough that he often disappeared into Faron Woods when his sense of not belonging began to overwhelm him. The dense forest, high grass, and tall ridges were enough to make him feel like he was in an entirely other world from the quaint Ordon Village. There, where monsters freely roamed at all times of the day, he learned not to fear. The atmosphere of the Sacred Grove does not strike fear in him.

It strikes sadness.

He can't place it, can't understand why the moment he stepped foot into these woods, an ache bloomed deep in his chest, like he's been reminded of a bitter old wound.

Here, wind is a breath away from nonexistence and his surroundings are inert, unaffected by time. It's a bizarre contrast to the moss and other flora that devours the crumbled stone littering the ground and growing over every tunnel and other place he looks; clear tells that this place has been here for decades—centuries, even. Signs of antiquity are everywhere, and his blood hums with it.

Though there's hardly wind, what could generously be called a breeze carries traces of... something. A sound, maybe; one that adds to the atmosphere and tastes like melancholy. His paws stepping over the overgrown grass is the loudest noise around—he's disturbing this place, the sacredness, an intruder he is—but if he exerts his ears, he can catch it. He's tempted to ask Midna too before he remembers that her weight is missing from his back. Whatever Zant had done to her and Zelda's subsequent sacrifice have stolen too much from her, and now she's hidden away in his shadow without eagerness to speak.

The body of a beast is familiar now—not that it ever felt as wrong as it should. The guardian spirits all tell him he's taken on a form blessed by the goddesses to wander when a being of light never could, but losing himself to the instincts that wrangle this body doesn't feel particularly holy. He can see, hear, _feel_ things he never could as a human; it would be overwhelming if it wasn't such a natural transition.

It could be for that reason that these trees don't want him here. They whisper, _You're wrong,_ not knowing he's been thrust into all of this by things beyond his control. Still, he treks dauntlessly and navigates his way through the thick underbrush, senses straining for any signs of life. He pauses.

_A howling stone,_ he thinks upon spotting a familiar crude slab jutting out from the ground. This one is different from the others carved with the tearful eye; the Triforce beveled on its surface and the hole a triangle. He trots up to it and listens, though without wind, what can he hear? To no one's surprise though, a melody murmurs through the hole. His eyes close.

It sounds like... a lullaby, soft and slow and comforting. Midna trembles in his shadow. His nose raises to the moon, and he sings back.

All at once, the forest _breathes._

Link shudders.

_Maybe you weren't supposed to do that,_ Midna teases without much feeling. He ignores her.

Wind rustles the tree leaves, the grass waves along with them, the ground shifts, the trees branches creak. Feet skitter and trigger Link to his guard; he stretches out his senses, ready and in search of danger. It's more than one pair of feet, more than two, three... Whatever he just woke up, he's _surrounded_ by it.

His attention snaps up into the tallest tree before him. Faint blue glows from the high branches before abruptly washing into orange, pupils disappearing. Leaves flutter down and Link leaps back when something thuds to the ground.

_A child?_

Midna snickers, sounding more lucid. _That's no child, I can tell you that._

She's right; though it has a child's height, its posture is hunched and its visible skin is the color of dead wood, white paint slathered in crude, twisting designs over its limbs and face. Its clothes are made of scraps of hessian thrown together poorly, painted on in the same way in the same way its limbs are. Down its back is a makeshift cape of leaves as green as the moment they were picked from their branches.

The last detail is impossible to miss: a curious amulet dangling from vines, hemp, and small white flowers wreathed into a necklace. Set into gold molded into a tree branch is a lush green emerald, glinting in the sunlight that rains through the canopy. The aura it emanates is brimming with life, though it must be as ancient as this forest.

From between the tatters of the brim of its hat, the child stares at him and tilts its head, splitting smile on its face unending. The simple movement pings a sense of danger inside Link and he crouches, lips pulled back from his fangs. A faint laugh follows, mocking edging it, and his head whips around as he hears feet loping in the branches around him.

_Is it alone or not?_

The answer is soon clear when the Stal-like child pulls out a long horn and blows. Wind blusters, thrashing leaves at Link, and he swerves back to dodge behind the howling stone to avoid being sliced to ribbons. Phantom giggles erupt all around him, echoing in his ears, and he shakes his head quickly to get a grip on the situation. Wood clacks from above, and soon, puppet-like creatures flop onto the ground before clacking up into forms as lumbering as the Stal child, though much bigger.

_Ooh, creepy,_ Midna says, sounding more curious than anyone has a right to be about such abominable-looking creatures.

Link is openly growling now, unable to shake the sense of danger as he looks over the marionettes—there are no strings, but the wood is just as thrown together as the Stal child's clothes and paint, and they look not only like poor imitations of the child's face itself, but also shaped into adult humans by someone who'd never seen one in their life. The sight sets Link's fur into standing on end.

Unlike the woods around them, but Stal child doesn't laugh, instead turning to disappear down a new tunnel under the cover of the puppets. The look it shoots him is a clear dare to follow, something just this side of too ominous to be playful. Puppets are quick to hem him in.

_Well, are you a divine beast, or aren't you?_ Midna teases, curiosity alive in his shadow.

He peers into the misshapen faces of the stringless puppets and feels that he shouldn't attack them—but his growl goes from defensive to feral. He lunges.

They're made quick work of, wooden limbs torn and tossed around their lifeless husks by the time he's done with them. Their glassy eyes stare unceasingly, smiles on their faces as alive as the day they were built, and he shakes tendrils of diconcertion from his body.

His ears twitch, grasping for any hints of where the Stal child escaped to. The scent of wood prevails and leaves nothing distinct but nature. He darts through another tunnel, deeper into the maze. Behind him, the limbs clatter.

Midna cackles as he skids to a stop, looking back the way he came. The puppets are slinking after him, put back together as if he hadn't just tore them apart.

_Looks like you've got your work cut out for you,_ Midna comments blithely.

Link studies the shambling dolls a moment and figures that this must be some old magic of these woods that protects whatever rests here, but taking them down again and again would be a waste of valuable time. He turns tail to find the Stal child, unfurling his senses farther.

It's weirdly familiar, listening out for a sign of where he's supposed to go in a forest that seems to have no clear path nor end. He ignores the giggles in the trees stalking him.

_You know, I once heard that people lost in these forests became nothing but angry bones,_ Midna mentions as he listens for something, anything. _Be careful that doesn't happen to you!_ She snickers.

He pointedly ignores her and turns his head, ears flicking.

_There._

His head turns again and leads his dart off in the direction of a harsh, metallic sound—the Stal child's horn playing a tune that resonates deep in his bones, even from a distance. He halts and turns several times, picking trunk tunnels where the sound builds and avoiding turns where it shrinks. The marionettes dog his every move, clamoring after him, hindering his path, trying to stop him. He has to pause to rip them apart a few times, but it seems not to matter; they always come back put together again. This repeats for what must be several hours.

Every time he thinks he's close, the tune moves and the faint laughter mocks him, as if saying he's not good enough to claim the secret held here. Maybe not, he thinks, but it won't stop him from doing what he has to.

He veers to a stop when he's met with a wall of bleached stone, arced at the top and moss eating through its cracks. It looks like it was once a pathway.

"Dead end," Midna notes unhelpfully, finally manifesting from his shadow. "What now?"

Link trots up to the wall to press an ear against it, but he hears nothing. He backs up instead and searches towards the canopy. Sure enough, perched on a ridge and leering down at him is the Stal child, silent horn clutched in its hand with a lantern swaying in the other. It tilts its head at him for a moment before bringing the horn to its lips and blowing that dissonant shrill again.

Leaves whip through the clearing and the clacking of puppet limbs multiplies by too many. They tumble down around him, each face looking more disconcerting than the last, and he circles to search for an opening. He looks back up at the ledge and sees that the Stal child is still there, so he doesn't have time for these wooden dolls.

He calls upon Midna's field of dark energy, and she raises her hair to wrap the group. He tears through and then glances back up at the ledge where the Stal child is, and then to the tunnel directly under it. He dashes through, turning, looking for a way up. The path he finds is a curved tree with rickety footholds that frames the wall and protruding rocks, but he navigates with ease, weaving through branches and stones in his way.

The tunnel leading to the ridge is smaller than the others, but he can see it—the Stal child waiting expectantly at the edge. He approaches with caution, waiting for the moment it blows its horn again, but it doesn't happen even as he prowls closer.

Up close, Link realizes that the perpetually grinning face is only a mask; he can make out eye holes through which the orange glows and see the edge of the wood from where the mask can be tipped up. Red rims the orange, harsh and almost... angry, but if he looks even closer, he can see flickers of blue swimming through, and it seems... familiar, like he's watched those eyes before. Though the mask is grinning from ear to ear, the eyes have a sadness to them that twinges in a part as primordial in him as his form.

"Well? Are you gonna catch it?" Midna asks, breaking the trance. Link flinches, but realizes that could be what the Stal child is waiting for—and he leaps.

He sails right through the place it stood before it disappeared into leaves with a jeering giggle. He slides and nearly falls off the ledge but catches it with his claws. Another giggle alerts him and he twists his head toward the ground; the Stal child is there, standing at the blocked off wall and snaps its fingers. The wall dissolves into leaves and the Stal child runs through.

Midna groans, small hands clutched in his fur though she has no reason to hold on. "I can see you're having fun with this brat, but could you catch it already? We're wasting time."

Urgency and an unsettling desperation edge her tone, and although he knows he shouldn't be, he's surprised. She's been on this quest for one thing only and has been so nonchalant about it that he almost thought she hadn't cared. Things are different now; Zant has done them both a great wrong, and it's time that they return the payment in full. Link supposes she must be eager for that. He lets go of the sedgy ledge.

The farther they follow the Stal child, the less woodsy the area is; stone is laid on the ground, built up, torches on either side of every archway, and Link wonders what this place used to be. He ignores déjà vu whispering that he's been here before, that he knows the answer, and races through the last archway.

The path stops at a broken ledge. He peers down into the cylindrical clearing, scattered with more remnants of what must have been noble architecture at one point long ago, and there on the center pillar is the Stal child. He leaps down.

The Stal child is eerily motionless and it bores at him through the mask with every wilder eyes, imposing guilt on him like he's done something very wrong. Giggles no longer play around the edges of his hearing, having fallen into the hushed hissing and incessant chatter of a crowd holding its breath. He feels eyes from every direction. The Stal child raises the horn and waits for him to act.

His hackles raise instinctively. The horn shrieks. A renewed army of puppets clatters to the ground and besieges him, too large to count.

"Looks like the home stretch," Midna comments, and Link can feel her on his back readying herself for this fight. She's right; surely if he takes down all of these dolls, this will end. He gets to work.

The Stal child hops from ridge to pillar to platform, its horn cresting in billow and aggression until anxiety roots in Link despite his best efforts to focus on fighting. The voices in the treetops sing along too; shrill squealing and screeching that grates on his concentration.

_You are wrong, you are wrong,_ he hears, they sing, _you do not belong. Wrong, the wrong time, the wrong person, just a mime with immersion into the game of the chosen._

It's no longer melancholic—bitterness and rage are bursting at the melody's seams, desperate to keep from him the power that rests here. He understands. Power in the wrong hands can lead to catastrophic consequences, so he needs to show these supposed guardians that he only has honorable intentions. The goddesses mean for him to be here (or so everyone tells him) and he has to represent himself as such.

"Focus, focus!" Midna scolds, her hair whipping just as much as he bounds. He grunts in pain when wooden limbs whip at his blind spots that she can't manage to cover. He barks back at her.

_I'm trying!_

When small voices are chattering unrelentingly, sneering things he doesn't want to hear about who he is or isn't, it's a _mite_ difficult to focus. What do they want from him? Blood? Some of it's already splattering the uneven ground, and there are _still_ puppets to spare.

The ireful song blares sharper and splits right in his ears, and he hunts for the source again. Tucked away from the mayhem it caused, the Stal child sneers down at him as if desiring his destruction, blowing spitefully on its horn with eyes more vibrant and grim. It's a challenge, his mettle and resolve being tested—will he lose himself here, or will he conquer it and follow the path they want him to be on?

Spite twitches in him too. An evil looms and there's no time to waste, so why can't these creatures see that he's done nothing but lay his life down for this cause?

He fights. Puppets pile on top of him and he spins and bites. They crowd to suffocate and hunger for the blood of a would-be hero. Weight falls and crushes his back, not unlike how his body feels lately. They don't know though—they don't know that he's fully invested and ready to give everything he has to save this kingdom, this world from a monster who would see darkness, hatred, and fear reign. It should frighten him, how ready he is to give his life, but hasn't he done this before? Hasn't he laid himself bare for the gods to guide?

...It's angering that this would stand in his way.

_Let—_ He chews off a puppet's head. _Me—_ He tears their bodies limb from limb. _SAVE YOU!_

A field of dark energy bursts forth and he howls into the sky. Wooden bodies clatter to the floor. Silence falls.

Beneath his weight, Link's legs are shaky and unreliable, but his will wins out against the need to crumple. Midna's hands are twined into his fur while she's oddly still and silent, but he can't pay it much mind because of his determination to remain steady—collapsing is failure, and he isn't here to fail.

He raises his heavy head and seeks out the familiar form of the Stal child. His darkening sight finds it after a moment, it standing on the center pillar where they started, limbs limp at its sides. A great hush has swathed the clearing. The emerald of the child's necklace gleams sharply, blurring in his vision.

"I think you scared it," Midna whispers, but he can hardly process the words. Instead, he hears the voices of the trees begin to whisper again.

_It's him,_ they say, brightening, _he's come back. He's home. He's returned to us._

They don't speak of him. He knows they don't. But he can _feel_ it... Imprinted on his soul, the essence of his spirit, the sear on the back of his inhuman paw—he _is_ the one they speak of.

_"It's you..."_ a voice breathes, and it startles his senses to life. He looks at the Stal child, whose hand has raised to cradle the amulet. _"The Hero... of Time..."_

Images slam into him and he stumbles backwards, things he's never seen— _A great tree, a forest of immortal children, a mountain of fire and dragons, a lake that would drown him, a house of shame and the dead, an unforgiving desert, and time, time, time..._

_A golden wolf._

He's gasping and Midna is hissing his name, demanding he pull himself together. He roughly shakes his head and looks at the Stal child again. It drops down from the pillar and begins to come, all trace of mischief and wrath gone from its gait. Caution belays its steps as if approaching a wild beast. The inferno of orange and red is gone from its eyes, fading into a cool, somber blue.

"Link..." Midna warns, but Link can't move.

_"Yes... Link..."_

The Stal child murmurs his name reverently and it plunges him into sorrow and regret—and he swells with wishes for a life he's never known.

When the child stands before him at last, its eyes simply gawk like it can't believe he's there. He doesn't breathe as it gingerly cups his maw, hands so small and hesitant. The hope he sees leaves his throat thick and he wants to look away; he knows he can do nothing to soothe the anguish behind the hope.

He waits for the child to realize its hope is misplaced and that he isn't the one it seeks. Its small, distinctly fleshy hand smooths down his muzzle and then it sighs, slow and forlorn.

_"No... You are not him..."_ It doesn't detract its hands, still gently petting him in some unsaid apology, easing away his exhaustion. _"I'm sorry, Hero, you must hate me."_

Link can feel Midna bubble with a thousand snarky and caustic things to say, but he slowly shakes his head.

_"Hero, chosen by the gods... You seek passage to the power that rests here... It will restore you to your true self,"_ the Stal child explains, and its voice echoes throughout the forest as if it were the forest itself, wise and ancient beyond Link's comprehension.

_"But beware, young one—"_ How funny it is, Link thinks, that the child calls _him_ the young one, _"—this power is a heavy burden to bear. By wielding it, you accept that your fate is forever intertwined to this world. You must swear your life here and be the servant this world needs, and you must never falter."_

The words swirl and echo in Link's head, heralding the magnitude of countless generations before him. For just a sliver of a moment, the ground is stolen from under his feet—he suddenly feels out of his depth, lost, unprepared... _frightened._ The sensation of falling wanes as swift as it had come, washed away by the tide of his resolve. He tilts his head into the child's touch.

The child seems to contemplate a moment. Link can sense grief storm through it before it is soon quelled.

_"I see,"_ it responds softly. _"Then you are truly worthy of this power."_

One small hand pulls from his muzzle and waves over a stone arch. The wall evaporates, brick by brick. The voices in the trees whisper, _The Hero, the Hero... He is here._

The Stal child turns back to him. It grabs the bottom of its mask and tilts it up just enough to reveal its mouth—humanoid skin.

_"Have strength, Link, chosen hero,"_ it murmurs to him, _"May you never waver, by the power vested in me."_

The emerald around the child's neck illuminates, flooding Link's vision and draping him in its light. His fatigue fades entirely.

The whispers begin to abate, but not before telling him, _Good luck! We cheer for you Hero!_ and this sudden confidence weaves into security for him.

When they're gone, the Stal child turns to him one last time.

_"You will be great,"_ it declares, tenderly stroking his head. _"You are what Hyrule needs, what we will always need. Have courage, child, and you will never fail."_ It presses its lips together, appearing choosing its next words carefully. _"...Thank you for playing with us, Hero. I've missed it."_

They're confusing words—who is "us?" Has he played with them before? He's not allowed much time to ponder because the child begins to dim, its soft touch melting away, and Link leans forward, inexplicably missing the warmth. The dissolving hands go to remove the smiling mask, and before the shade vanishes completely, Link sees blue eyes and green hair. A name surges to mind but wilts at the tip of his tongue.

They're truly alone this time. For a long moment, neither of them speak.

"...That was weird," Midna finally mutters, like saying it any louder might shatter the world.

_Weird... Right..._ Link thinks, though she can't hear him.

Before this, he hadn't quite felt prepared for what waited for him here, but it's different now. His bones are fortified with a strength beyond comprehension, and his spirit is ablaze with certainty. Midna seems to sense it and ruffles his fur almost affectionately, if somewhat amused.

"Okay, hero," she pipes, sounding as fearless as he feels, "let's get at that sword."

He nods. They begin to trot off into the opening led into by the cleared archway.

Before they go, Link can hear a playful flute (no, more wooden, more light and hollow, an... ocarina?) singing a tune that wishes him well, wishes him all the courage in the world.

He accepts it, takes that courage, and goes forth.

 

 

 

 

 

The journey out of the Sacred Grove is almost serene, unusually so. Link goes by human foot, the blade dubbed the Master Sword strapped to his back, and they begin a new arc of their journey to find a relic named the _Mirror of Twilight._ He isn't sure what it does or why they need it, but if Midna needs to find it, he'll stop at nothing to help her.

He passes the howling stone that summons the shade of a hero. Footsteps crunch on the grass behind him and he whips around, sword and shield already in hand—but there's nothing there.

The only thing he sees is wisps of golden fur disappearing into the Sacred Grove.

**Author's Note:**

> i tried to be as thin as i could on tagging, but you can only skim on so much lmfao anyways . . . i suspect readers will know who the 'stal child' was. it's like a Big Thing that i came up with recently where i love the idea that saria is actually the skull kid in the sacred grove instead of it being like a reference to majora's mask, but like. much more wild and dangerous than i wrote her here. i kinda elaborated [here,](https://twitter.com/ahegaoravi/status/1075962096603545600) so check that out if you're into that
> 
> i also edited this work a ridiculous amount of times so if there's STILL mistakes, i'm gonna riot (i say as i return in a month to rewrite the whole thing)
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading! feel free to leave a comment if you enjoyed it~


End file.
